


Ragnar's [SSS]

by xHonestSecretsx



Series: Sy's Sinful Saturdays [Vikings] [1]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Breeding, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 12:45:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Short snippets of my sinful saturdays centered around my king, Ragnar Lothbrok





	1. Chapter 1

His hands were thick, veins popping to the surface with every wind of his thick hand around your throat. Aethelwulf told you not to hang around the heathens. But there was something so alluring about the infamous Ragnar Lothbrok. The men he killed, the women he loved-- the tricks he pulled on your father. Yes, maybe it was all of those things.

He was not human, not god. The way his hands wound around your throat was almost as if someone had poured liquid excitement down your throat. Your cunt clenches around his dick so fully embedded within your clenching walls. Almost close enough that you could feel him knocking against your cervix.

You can only imagine what your father Aelle would say.


	2. More Than Ever

He can afford the good things in life. For his sons, for his wives-- even if Lagertha would tell him to go eat shit. He can do that. Every so often though, Ragnar likes to relax. Buy himself something to loosen him up, drink his booze and call her up.

The call girl whose legs were spread widely apart, waiting for his mouth to sink down upon her. His hands stroke slowly from her ankles, drawing apart her legs from the prize glistening with juices between them.

“Ready?” He rumbles softly, rolling his tongue against the corner of his mouth at the sight. This was always the best. The way she threw him that pleasured smile before he sunk himself in her.

“Ready?”

“More than ever.”


	3. It's Genetic

The door opened as Hvitserk came in, finding your hands wrought deep in furs. Your legs were spread apart-- drooling onto the furs while your legs splayed wide open.

“How has she held up?” Hvitserk asks as he takes a seat beside the bed. His wayward father spread your cunt’s lips apart with his thick digits, diving back in to press his lips around your clit. His tongue swirled around your clit, lips forming a seal for a suckle that had your back arching defenselessly.

“Please make him stop.” Your voice cracks, worn by the constant suckle of his mouth around you. “He’s worse than you at stopping. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Where did you think I got it?”


	4. Training

A harsh breath in.

Exhale out.

“You’re doing good, princess.” Ragnar husks in your ear, fists tight as he pulls at the base of the glistening clamps over your nipples. The chain is lax connecting from one nipple to another, but burns all the same.

“Sir I-- it hurts.” You gasp a breath, fingers stretching out as if to deter you from giving into the pain. Ragnar watches with his breath against your neck, scruffy bits of his beard rubbing against your shoulders.

“Breathe.”


	5. Burst

Aslaug didn’t really care who he slept with. She didn’t care the nights that he was with other women-- just so long as he didn’t impregnate them. Based on his tract record that meant that he should probably not cum inside of them.

“Hold it there.” Ragnar slips himself out from your sopping wet hole, guiding his cock between your cheeks with his thumbs holding his shaft between your cheeks. Swift thrusts of his hips left his spent his seed in gushes over your round ass.

“Fuck... fuck.” He hisses, riding out the last of his pesky assignment all over your ass. His thumb smears his essence over your ass, tugging you around to slide onto your knees. You come before him, cleaning his cock of his seed with your smooth lips lathing him clean.

“When was my appointment with Harald?” Ragnar clears his throat, adjusting his dark tie.

You reach for the planner sitting abandoned upon the desk.

“Ten o’clock sir.” The clock on his desk reads 9:45. Tucking his cock away, Ragnar straightens out his slacks.

“Great work, (Y/N).” He says.

“Thank you sir.”


End file.
